


Whiskey Soaked

by puchuupoet



Category: Supernatural/Boondock Saints
Genre: AU, Incest, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Werewolves, werewolfbigbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-11
Updated: 2010-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 07:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/134690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puchuupoet/pseuds/puchuupoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Apocalypse is over, and almost all is right with the world. Sam and Dean are back to hunting the things that go bump in the night, in the hopes that it will fix the rift that's growing between them. A call involving an old friend of Dean's takes them to Boston, where a pair of werewolves are wrecking havoc on the town. While there they meet a pair of brothers much like themselves: a cursed bloodline, a tendency to find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time and the need to keep friends close and family closer. Post S5/Movie 1 AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey Soaked

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [](http://community.livejournal.com/werewolfbigbang/profile)[**werewolfbigbang**](http://community.livejournal.com/werewolfbigbang/). So many thanks to [](http://playthefool.livejournal.com/profile)[**playthefool**](http://playthefool.livejournal.com/) for all the encouragement, flailing and beta'ing ♥♥ Thank you to [](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/profile)[**cloudlessclimes**](http://cloudlessclimes.livejournal.com/) for the [gorgeous mix](http://puchuupoet.livejournal.com/338397.html) ♥

"Sam," Dean softly kicks at the chair leg. "We got a call."

Sam grunts in response, face pressed against cheap wooden desk. "What time is it?"

"Seven?" There's suddenly a warm palm pressed against Sam's neck, and he raises his head to glare at Dean. "Got you coffee and everything, man."

"How bad is it?" Sam accepts the paper cup carefully before looking up at Dean. "I mean, when was the last time you woke up this early?"

Dean shrugs, turning around towards his bed. His duffel's upright and packed, and when Dean sits it lists to the side.

"It's werewolves," he says, and watches Sam's shoulders. There's nothing, which worries him more than any slump or huff could. "I told the guy we might not be able to make it, but I guess it's getting bad out there."

"It's fine, Dean." Sam finally moves, and Dean huffs out the breath he didn't realize he was holding. Sam swivels around on the chair with a cool laugh that makes Dean's skin prickle. "If they're hot though, you're the one shooting them."

Dean twists to grab at his bag, hauling it over his shoulder as he stands. "I'm checking us out. See you in five." He carefully shuts the door behind him, sucking in a deep breath of the cold morning air. Fucking freezing in the woods in Bumfuck, South Dakota, but it was convenient and isolated. He glances back at the closed curtains before heading towards the Impala, the car covered in a slight sheen of mist and ice. He drops his bag off in the trunk, slamming it too hard when he sees Sam's face move from peering out the window.

Sam's words echo in Dean's head, the crisp bitter laugh clenching his fists. A couple months ago, the first time it had happened Dean thought Sam was drunk again, wasted away to the point of wanting to bring up the past, with all its mistakes and failures. But Sam had been clear-headed, and Dean had seen in his eyes that Sam knew exactly where and how hard his words were hitting. They had fought that night, about the angels and demons and how fucked up they all were, and whose fault it was for that. Sam brought up Castiel and then Dean mentioned how Sam might have been clinging a little too tightly to Lucifer's bitchy attitude, because at that point Dean was drunk, had to be to deal with this shit, and that's when Sam hauled off and punched him. Dean knew he heard a crack, didn't know if it was his jaw against Sam's fist or his head against the brick wall, but whatever it was, it fucking hurt. Neither of them brought it up since, and Sam had carefully taken care of Dean for the next week, but Dean can feel it simmering between them.

"Hey, you there?" Sam's suddenly next to him, fingers brushing past Dean's to grab at the keys and twist open the trunk again. "Everything set?"

This is what Dean hates, when everything feels like it's almost back to normal, that if they both went for it it could be, but there's too much of the past they're still clinging to. Sam's staring at him, jeans and plaid and boots, bangs starting to fall across his forehead, but it's the way he shifts, the way he stands and postures that makes Dean think that something hitched its way back up to the surface with him.

"Here," and Dean tosses the room key at him. "Need to warm her up."

Sam nods his head and heads towards the front office, and even from here Dean can see the girl at the desk perk up at Sam coming her way. Dean's stomach twists, and he slams the trunk shut again, not even caring about the noise this time.

By the time Sam's back and knocking on the window, Dean's already plotted the trip out. He drops the maps in the backseat before unlocking the passenger door, and settles his ass back in.

"You could have pulled around you know." Sam slumps down in the seat.

"And have you miss out on that amazing workout, walking across the parking lot? Come on now." It's this sort of joking that used to give Dean hope, until he realized that Sam reacted harder to it.

"So, where to this time? Sticking with the werewolves and the boonies?" Sam settles back in, and Dean can practically see his hackles lowering.

"Actually, Boston. Way the hell out there." Dean pulls into the street, a dinky two-lane, roughly paved deal that the town proudly proclaimed as Main Street.

"It's going to take a day or two, even driving all night." Sam eyes Dean, who's finding the surrounding attractions fascinating. "What's pushing you so hard on this one?"

"It'll be a day. Think it's something an old friend got caught up in before."

"How do you keep all your 'old friends' straight?" Sam teases, airquoting with one hand. "I've yet to come across a little black book in your belongings."

"His name was Rocco, hung out at a bar near an apartment Dad and I rented, back when you were in California." Dean pauses, reading over the highway signs, and he smoothly pushes the Impala over to the east bound lane. "Friendly guy, never knew when to shut up though. Knew everything about everyone in that town, even shared some of his grandma's folklore when he was really wasted."

"So your drinking buddy needs your help? How well did this turn out the last time we did it?"

"He's dead, Sam. Got involved in some mob shit that was too deep for him." Dean lets himself get distracted by the road so that he doesn't have to think about it anymore.

"Crap, I'm sorry Dean."

Dean just keeps driving, keeping to the speed limit til they're out of town and then he floors it, loose grip on the wheel and lets the car guide herself, sloping around curves, Dean nudging her back in place whenever she gets too close to the weeds running ragged on the edge of the highway.

\---

It's not til they pass through Mitchell that Sam looks up from whatever he's reading and starts to shift around. Dean glances over at him, still annoyed enough to not make eye contact. It's bullshit, really, but things are different and they've been down this road before, of lies and betrayals and Dean just doesn't have the energy for it anymore. So as long as Sam keeps acting like Lucifer's pitchfork is still shoved up his ass, Dean's holding his cards close.

"So who was it that called then?" Sam finally stops moving around in the seat, settling himself back against the door so that he's facing more towards Dean.

Dean looks over at him before answering. "Honestly, guy sounded like an honest to god mobster. Thick Italian accent and everything. Never heard of him before, but he knew enough about Rocco and the situation to convince me it's at least worth checking out."

"And the situation is? 'Werewolves' is a little vague, even for us."

Dean settles back against the seat and lets his hand slide down the curve of the wheel. "I guess there's a pair of them out there, massive ones that aren't passing as stray dogs anymore."

There's no one on the road, so Dean takes the wheel with his left hand before he twists around and reaches for a folder in the backseat. "This has everything I was able to find online," he says, handing it off to Sam. "No one cared until people realized the mobs were taking the brunt of it, and now it seems like it's cause to celebrate."

Sam shifts through the printouts, brow furrowed. "They're still monsters though."

"Huh," Dean murmurs under his breath. "Yeah," he nods his head towards Sam. "But you have to say, it's not like they're doing a disservice to humanity right now. People are just as fucked up as monsters." He pauses for a moment. "You know that."

Sam huffs out an agreement. "Maybe so, but still. Saving people, hunting things, remember that Dean? If there's a risk out there, that someone innocent could get caught up in all this, we need to stop it."

Dean bites his tongue, doesn't want to fight now, doesn't want to start up something fresh. He's been to Hell, knows what it can be like, but as far as he knows Sam had the white collar view of the place.

"Despite their group of supporters, it looks like most people want the streets clear of rabid dogs. Hell, if only they knew what was actually out there." Dean chuckles as the road straightens out again and he bumps the car up to eighty-five.

"So, you know where we're headed then?" Sam drops the folder down in the footwell before doing his best to stretch out. "Other than Boston?"

"The guy gave me an address, but there's another place I want to check out first. Think we'll get a better feel of things there; social networking and all that, Sammy."

"Your buddy's bar?"

"Damn straight."

\----

Between the weather and traffic, by the time they reach Boston it's early evening and the streets are getting dark quickly. It's been awhile since they've hunted in a city this size, and while Dean can feel his adrenaline pick up, Sam almost seems anxious about the whole thing.

"It'll be fine, man." Dean keeps an eye on the road as he manages to find a parking space, tucking the car away on a low-lit street. "This is the area they've been seen the most in, we'll scope them out, maybe get a couple shots in and then regroup. Just like always."

Sam looks at him for a beat before nodding. Dean shuts the engine off as Sam unfolds himself from the front seat and stretches his arms and back out. By the time Dean makes his way to the trunk, Sam already has the hatch open and is gathering weapons.

"At least it looks like this place is used to gunshots," he says, looking around, and Dean has to agree. There's a low count of lights lining the street, and the surrounding alleys seem like prime lurking spots. Occasionally shouts echo against the building walls, but it's normal city noise, nothing out of place since the last time Dean swung through.

"Here you go." Sam hands Dean his gun, and out of routine Dean checks it, counting the silver bullets inside. "Dude, I'm not going to lie, come on."

"Habit, Sam. You'd do the same thing."

"Not even. Especially now, after everything." Sam slides a knife into the sheath on his hip before turning to face Dean. "We're going to have to deal with this, you know that."

Dean shakes his head, makes himself focus on the pre-hunt check: guns, blades, backup holy water, as if that's going to leave a mark. "Not now Sam. Not here."

"Dammit Dean, this is bullshit..." A sharp crash drowns out the rest of Sam's words, and they both turn towards the direction the noise came from. A sharp wail follows, breaking down into breathless sobs the closer it gets.

Dean slams the trunk shut, barely missing Sam's fingers but neither reacts. They both stay close to the car, streetside with their guns held tight against their legs.

There's a meaty slap of flesh against asphalt, and out of nowhere a man bursts into the halo of streetlight. He's breathless, wide eyes that even Dean can see the whites of from across the street. The man's barefoot and as he moves through the pool of light he leaves bloody footprints, the frayed cuffs of his pants smearing the blood trail.

Dean's set to stay quiet, swears he can hear something else out there, something much bigger than an alley cat. But Sam reacts. "Hey," he whispers, way too loudly for Dean's liking and the man looks towards them both.

It's too silent, and Dean grabs at Sam's wrist, pulls him back just as the man starts towards them. There's a sudden racket, garbage can lids clattering down as a large brown object rushes past them to bowl the man over.

Years of training kick in, and Dean yanks Sam with him to crouch behind the Impala's rear end. He sits high enough to watch the wolf drag the man around, so that both the man and wolf are facing Dean.

The alley suddenly seems silent once the wolf's eyes meet Dean's, save for the whimpering and pleading from the man beneath it. One heavy paw is placed in the center of his chest as the wolf rearranges its grip, sliding its jaws over the man's throat. One last gurgling plea and Dean swears his heart stops as the teeth puncture the vocal cord.

Dean can hear the man die slowly, guttural gasps that whistle as the air passes over the teeth marks. The wolf's still watching , alternating between staring at Dean and tilting its head to watch the man's body shudder one last time.

"Jesus fuck Sam, did you see that?" Dean whispers, racking his mind for anything that could easily bring that fucker down.

"Dean." Sam's voice is low and urgent.

"Yeah?"

"Don't move."

Dean tenses when Sam speaks, and almost immediately there's a low growl coming from behind them. A soft crunch of gravel and glass and there's hot breath panting on the back of Dean's neck, humid and rank.

The other wolf whines, bored of the carcass in front of it and takes a few steps towards the Impala. A sharp bark and suddenly the presence behind Dean is moving, shifting from the shadows behind them to softly pad up next to the other one.

While the first wolf was a dark sable, this new one's lighter, more tan and grey, but they're both huge. They nuzzle each other, the sable one licking at the other wolf's mouth and Dean tries not to stare too hard.

A car backfires on the next street over and everyone jumps, the wolves' hackles bristling. The sable wolf growls at Dean and Sam before turning to lope back into the darkness. The grey stares a moment longer before following, its gait slower and jerkier than the other's.

"What the fuck was that?" Sam slumps against the trunk of the Impala, and even in the low light Dean can see the sweat beading on his forehead.

"Other than werewolves? Cause that's all I got right now." Dean stands up and checks behind the surrounding cars.

"Smart werewolves. Those were nothing like Mad-... Like before."

"Yeah... Let's follow them."

"What? They're like Shetland ponies with fangs and night-vision goggles Dean, we'd be screwed."

"Maybe, but did you see the second one? Could barely keep up with the other." Dean nudges Sam off the trunk, opening it up to rummage through the arsenal.

"You mean the second werewolf that got the jump on us and could have killed us?" Sam folds his arms and Dean can hear the bitchface without even having to look.

"Yeah, but he didn't."

"Still not finding that reassuring."

Dean slams the trunk closed. "Come on, the trail's getting cold."

\---

One of the wolves had stepped in the pool of blood, and Sam and Dean make their way through a maze of back alleys as they follow the trail. Dean's grip on his gun loosens slightly when the streetlights become brighter and more frequent, but every single noise has them constantly checking behind and above them.

"Hey, up there." Sam gestures with his free hand. "That look like a bar to you?"

Dean squints at the windows before breaking out into a smile. "I've been here before."

"Really."

"Yeah, sure. This was where Rocco hung out." Dean tilts his head up to look around at the buildings surrounding them. "The old apartment should be a couple blocks to the west of here, if everything's stayed the same."

"Huh." Sam looks both surprised and slightly impressed. "Would it be good for information?"

"Possibly." Dean turns to grin at him. "Depends on how much they like us."

\---

The bar's deafening the moment they open the door, and Dean sneaks Sam a thumbs up. Loud bars equal copious amounts of alcohol, and that's the faster way to get people to start talking.

The din dies down as more people get a look at them, and by the time Dean makes his way to the counter, all that's left is a low murmuring and some weird music on the jukebox. Figures they would get Rickrolled in an Irish bar.

"What can I get you?" The man behind the bar is old, a burst of white hair and thick glasses dominating his face.

"Whatever's on tap and two shots of Jack."

"Last call's coming up."

Dean checks his watch. "See, I've got us at 10:30, which is an amazingly early last call," he lets his gaze drag over the men sitting at the bar," for an Irish neighborhood." He can feel Sam walk up behind and lets himself relax.

"Still. If you think you can drink it fast enough, I'm more than happy to take your money. Fuck! Shit!"

Dean slides a couple of bills across the counter, smugly smiling when the glasses slide back. "It was odd, walking over here. Came across a couple of strays chasing people around in the alley back there." He tilts his chin in the general direction. "You know anything about that?"

The man shakes his head. "Not a th-th-thing. Dammit! Crap!"

Dean takes his shot, setting the glass down on the counter before picking up his beer. "Come on," he nods his head at a table in the far corner. Sam grabs the remaining glass before winding his way through the clutter of chairs and off-center tables.

"What do you think?"

"Other than him shorting me my change?"

"Maybe he thought it was a bribe?"

"Then he should have said something useful." Dean takes a sip of his beer. "At least this is respectable."

Sam rolls his eyes at him. "So this is your famous source of information. What next?"

One of the back doors next to the bar suddenly shakes violently, a heavy thump echoing throughout the bar. There's a slight pause, soft scratches against a wooden floor before a high-pitched whine and another glass-shaking blow against the wall.

"Fucking neighbors," someone calls out, and the thinning crowd laughs along. Dean narrows his eyes at the wall, staring long enough for Sam to kick at his leg.

"You suck at blending in tonight." Sam takes a pull from his beer. "Alleyway throw you off?"

"Bite me." Dean looks a moment longer before meeting Sam's gaze. "The reflection there on the floor, by the baseboard. Looks like blood from this angle, right?"

"So there's a secret door in the pub? Are you going for rumrunning werewolves now?"

Dean smirks at Sam. "No, but I'll bet you anything that's their lair." He leans back in his chair, shoving his jacket sleeves up to his elbows. "Fucking hot in here."

There's another loud noise, the heavy sound of a body hitting the wall, and Dean can see the door start to flex under the pressure. A sharp howl follows, the noise causing some people to shuffle out the door.

Dean stands up and heads towards the bar. "Okay, now. You can't tell me that you didn't see or hear that. What's going on?"

The bartender avoids Dean's eyes, reaching underneath the counter top to pull something closer to him, and Dean's pretty sure it's a rifle. "I'd suggest y-you leave now. For everyone's sake."

"Bullshit," Dean growls, and suddenly Sam's at his back, wrapping a hand over his shoulder.

"Come on man, let's not start anything," he says, leaning in close to whisper in Dean's ear. "You know we're outnumbered three to one here, right? Plus whatever does happen to be behind that door."

Dean just leans in closer, letting his jacket fall far enough away from his side. He can tell when the bartender sees the gun, the way his eyes go wide and his fingers curl tighter around the rifle.

"I can have this pointed at your head faster than it takes for any of these guys to reach me," Dean practically purrs, and is pleased when the old man's eyes flicker to the hidden door. "Just tell me what's back there and things'll be golden."

Sam's hand tightens on his shoulder, the only warning that Dean has before Sam's being pulled away and thrown to the side. Sam's immediately covered by two men, one pinning his arms behind his back while the other checks him for weapons.

Dean spins around, coming face to face with a lean man smirking at him. There's a familiarity there that Dean can't quite pin down, and he acts quickly, raising his gun in time to shoot the man in the shoulder. The noise echoes loudly in the bar, followed by a hush that implies that no one ever thought anyone would actually follow through on the promise of gunfire.

The man stumbles back from the hit, and leans up against one of the tables, his eyes closed. There's a steady pulse of blood leaking from the wound, staining the thin grey t-shirt and there's a sickly mix of liquor and copper in the air.

"Fucking a, what was that?" The man slowly opens his eyes, glaring at Dean for a moment before craning his neck to look at his shoulder. "Really man, is that any way to introduce yourself? Who taught you your manners?"

"Don't tell me. You're related to a douche named Patrick?" Dean lowers his gun, aware of the grip the two men have Sam in. "You have the same smug accent going on."

The man laughs as he stands up straight, rolling his bleeding shoulder around. "Not at all, but sounds like my type of man." He extends his arm, nodding his head towards Dean. "Connor."

Dean watches the blood race down Connor's forearm, following the curves of the muscles and he briefly shakes his hand before the blood reaches Connor's fingers. "Dean. And that's Sam over there, being lovingly felt up by your men."

Connor huffs out a laugh. "Not my men, but as long as he keeps his fingers away from those knives, he's welcome to join the conversation."

Sam glares at Dean as he shrugs away from their grip, turning his attention to the older man who's still grasping his rifle.

"Is this the conversation where you tell me what's going on around here?"

Connor shrugs and looks around. "All I see is a misunderstanding. I'd buy you a drink, but Doc here's itching to close the doors."

"Dean, come on." Sam's back again at Dean's back. "It's a dead end."

Dean doesn't care, doesn't want to fall back and regroup, giving the werewolves a chance to escape. He doesn't get why Sam's so eager to leave, and again the thought of bits of Lucifer floating around in Sam crosses his mind. Sam never did talk about what happened down there, and Dean almost doesn't blame him. But it was Lucifer, the fucking Apocalypse, and Dean knows that sort of pressure can only be tamped down for so long before something bursts.

"Just a second, Sammy," and Dean hopes Sam gets the message, cause before Dean realizes what he's doing he's launching himself towards Connor, pushing him back over on the table while reaching for the small of his own back. All of Dean's weight is on Connor's torso and even then that's almost not enough to keep him down. Dean has a decent grip on his knife, pressing the blade up to Connor's throat, just enough to watch the skin dip in.

"That was fucking stupid, you know." Connor's grinning underneath him, keeping his arms spread out away from his body.

"That's what I was hoping for," Dean murmurs, and it's just a heartbeat before there's a hard click against the floor; a slow gait and a heavy breath and it takes all of Dean's willpower to not turn his head from Connor's gaze.

"Dean..."

Dean knows that tone, that he's fucked up and the shit's about to hit the fan. He'd even admit to missing that _I told you so_ whine, just because that means someone's got his back again.

"Grownups are talking, Sam."

"Yeah, well. Fido's joining in whether you like it or not."

There's a soft grunt before two massive paws land on the table, just inside Dean's scope of vision. There's blood on the nails, the fur tacky and matting together, and Dean realizes it's not just blood he's smelling as the wolf pants near his face, but flesh as well, muscles and tendons and gristle.

"Found one of you. And I bet the other's not far off." Dean punctuates the last few words by pressing the blade tighter against Connor's throat, a seam of blood appearing when he pulls it back.

At the sight of blood the wolf starts growling, nose pressing against Dean's bare arm and he can feel the vibrations from the teeth echo through the limb. His arm flexes as he adjusts his grip on the blade and before he knows it the jaws are sliding over his skin, small abrasions that start stinging immediately as the wolf starts to press down.

"Wanna call your dog off?"

Connor stares at Dean for a moment before giving a slight nod. "You pull your brother off, I'll do the same."

"If I move, will he bite?"

Connor grins then. "You know how family is. Can talk their ear off but they never hear you."

"Right. Thanks for that." Dean slowly pulls the knife away, hovering over Connor's chest as he risks a glance to his right. The wolf's watching him, eyes flickering between Connor, Dean and behind Dean's back. Dean keeps slowly turning his head, til the end of Sam's gun comes into view.

"Lowering that would be an awesome idea right now, Sam." Dean can see the hesitation in the barrel of the gun, a slight waver before it drops out of view . It takes longer to convince the wolf to do the same, Connor whispering low, the accent and speed getting in the way of any eavesdropping. But soon Dean's arm is bare, save for the slick trail of drool, and he's able to unpin Connor.

The bar's clear now, save for the old man behind the counter, who's now nonchalantly wiping down the area.

Dean straightens his jacket, rolling the sleeves back down while taking a couple steps back. Sam's still tense, gun by his side but Dean can tell he's ready to raise it at the drop of a hat.

"What'd you mean by that?" Sam's voice is harsh, and for a moment Dean wishes the jukebox would kick back in with anything, just to break the tension.

"What did I mean by what?" Conner hefts himself onto the table before wrapping an arm around the wolf's neck, and his fingers idly dig into the thick ruff of fur.

"You said if Dean pulled me off, you'd pull your brother off." Sam nods at the wolf, who's now licking at the drying blood on Connor's throat. "And you did."

"Did I now?" Connor ruffles its ears. "Could just be Lassie, the bar dog." The wolf growls at that, but Dean can swear it's was one of the nicer growls he's heard coming from an animal that size.

Sam shakes his head. "I know those looks. It's not just some bar dog." There's a pause, and Dean can feel Sam's eyes on him. "It's blood, family."

"Doc, you sure you cut these two off in time? They seem to be coming up with some wild stories now." There's a harumph from behind the bar and Dean can see the first flicker of concern on Connor's face.

"How's this? You humor us with one request, and then once we realize we're drunk off our asses and completely mistaken, we'll get out of your hair." Dean slides his knife back into its casing.

"What's your request?"

"Just drape this old thing around Lassie's neck." Dean reaches into his pocket, lifting his hand to reveal a silver necklace. "Should fit over those massive ears."

Connor eyes him. "That's it?"

"Scout's honor."

Connor lifts his hand and Dean tosses the necklace, the hidden cross palmed between his fingers. Connor catches it, wincing at the touch and drops it onto the floor with a sharp clatter.

"See, now that's fucked up." He inspects his palm, poking at it until satisfied there's no mark.

"No, that's silver _and_ holy. You done dicking us around?" Dean shoves his hands back in his jacket pockets, fingers playing with the knife tucked away in his right pocket.

Connor waits a beat before nodding. "For now. You done throwing shit at me?"

"What's his name?" Dean nods towards the wolf, changing the subject.

Connor snags a beer from a nearby table and opens it with his ring. He takes a long drink before answering. "Murphy."

"Brother?"

"More than." Connor keeps his eyes locked on Dean's, lips curling into a slow smile as he takes another drink.

"Right, guys? Any way we could move this into longer, more helpful sentences?" Sam's still holding the gun, casual enough but Dean can see the tightness of his muscles from where he stands.

"Come on Sammy, we're getting to know each other. Connor, Murphy. Sam and Dean." Dean smiles at the wolf. "Told you this was a good place for friends and info."

"Ahh, we're friends now then?" Connor asks. Murphy drops down from leaning on the table, a solid thud against the floor. He makes his way to Sam and Dean, sniffing around their boots and up their pants legs. Dean keeps his hands in his pockets, resisting the urge to bat the wolf's nose away as it get closer to his crotch.

Dean shrugs. "Until your dog makes a move on me again." The wolf growls at that, locking eyes with Dean until Connor whistles at him.

"Come on Murph, don't hate him cause he's stupid." Murphy growls again, hackles raised as he walks back to Connor. He slowly slides down til he's on his belly, but Dean can see the tension vibrate through him.

"How about business partners?" Sam speaks up, and all three turn to stare at him, Murphy's ears pricked forward. "Really, it's the mobsters that are the ones that need to be taken out, right? Why not work together?"

Dean opens his mouth, wanting to stop Sam from talking on, but Connor get there first.

"So, it's the mobsters you two are after? The common enemy uniting us and all that?" He glances over at Dean, and Dean finds himself nodding his head before he realizes what he's doing. There's a long pause before Connor speaks again.

“You two gotta place to stay tonight?” Connor glances between Sam and Dean.

“Not yet. And no, the backseat doesn’t count,” Sam adds when Dean starts to protest.

Connor chuckles, then glances towards the wolf. "We've got a spare mattress back at the loft. Think we could squeeze you both in if you'd like." The wolf stares at Dean, ears flattening against its head until Connor ruffles them back up. "None of that now, ya hear? They could be helpful."

"How far away's your place?"

"Coupla blocks back to the east." Connor grins. "Back by where you two parked."

\---

Dean's not completely out of breath by the time they reach the third floor, but it's close. He had stared longingly at the busted looking elevator but Connor and the wolf had just padded by to the stairwell. "Less questions this way." Connor had responded to Dean's questioning noise. "It's only the fifth floor anyways." He had added, practically jogging up the stairs.

Dean hangs back on the walk up, tugging at Sam's sleeve until he falls back next to him.

"Really, mobsters? What was that about?" He whispers, fingers digging into Sam's arm.

Sam jerks his arm away. "It's not like you were doing anything about it. I got us into their lair Dean, okay? Stop bitching and focus on what's ahead of us."

Dean stops, trying to process what Sam just said and relate it to the Sam he thought he knew, before the shit hit the proverbial fan.

"You coming?" Connor's voice echoes in the concrete stairwell, and Dean can feel three pairs of eyes land on him before he starts back up.  
\---

"Sparse but homey," Connor says as he unlocks the door, the wolf pushing past his legs to head towards the mattresses. It curls up on one with a broken whine of contentment, glaring at Sam and Dean from across the room.

"Think Murphy's trying to send you a message boys." Connor heads over towards the sink in the far corner. "You two can have mine and I'll make sure Lassie shares with me."

"And we'll stay on our side and he'll stay on his?" Dean can't get the feeling of the teeth and the massive amount of pressure they promised out of his head, and he's looking forward to not ever experiencing that around his throat.

"Ahh, he's an independent thinker, you know. That's something you're going to have to take up with him." Connor wipes his hands on his jeans before heading back, sitting down next to Murphy on the mattress.

Murphy leans against him, slowly sliding til he's on his back with his feet up in the air. Connor grins down at him, reaching over to scratch a trail from his chest to his belly, chuckling when he hits the spot that makes Murphy's back leg start to twitch.

"Tell us if we're interrupting anything," Dean jokes, but his words hang in the air, til he feels three pairs of eyes resting on him and he tugs at his collar.

"Uh, bathroom's behind the far wall?" Sam asks, breaking the silence and Connor nods, his eyes not leaving Dean's face. Sam's footsteps echo in the concrete room, and then the sound of a thin tap being turned on.

"You're brothers."

Dean furrows his brow. "Yeah? We went over this already, when Cujo there was having a little too much fun with my arm." Murphy snorts, paws flopping uselessly in the air, his jowls drooping into a grin.

"Naw, not just that. You're close, right? Used to be, at least."

"Where's this headed?"

Connor shrugs. "Nowhere, if you want. But something's been broken and it's already fucking painful watching the two of you, even for this short amount of time. Don't see how anyone could stand to be around the two of you like this."

"Well, thankfully we don't have to worry about that. Us and the car, and we get along fine." Dean's voice sounds perfectly level to his own ears, but he gets nervous when Murphy twists over, landing on his belly to stare at Dean with clear light blue eyes.

"How long've you been telling yourself that?" Connor scratches at the base of Murphy's ears. "And has he been thinking the same?"

"We're on the same page." Dean's response is short. Even though he's starting to get annoyed, he's also feeling small even though Connor and Murphy are the ones staring up at him.

"Same page might work for some folks, but you're not like that." Connor points his finger at Dean. "If you two don't get back to the same sentence again, the split's just gonna widen on you both."

"Sounds like you know what you're talking about."

Connor gazes at Dean for a moment before dropping his head down to stare at the floor, and Murphy glares at Dean for a moment before nuzzling in under Connor's arm.

"How good are you at folklore?"

"Depends on the folk, really." Dean shrugs. "Moreso than most out there." There's a sudden squeak as Sam walks towards them, rubber soles sliding against damp cement, and he shrugs apologetically as he stops by Dean.

"Shapeshifters?" Connor lifts his head to meet Dean's eyes.

"Sure."

"Werewolves?"

"That's why we're here." Dean quirks an eyebrow at Connor. "We all know that."

"Oh, do we now?" Connor's gaze flickers over to Sam. "And what're you planning on doing about it?"

Dean stares at Connor, trying to get a read on him. But Connor's face stays clear, the only movement coming from Murphy shifting restlessly next to him.

"People were dying, we had to check it out." Dean glances over at Sam. "Turns out the people dying aren't the nicest bunch of folk out there."

"Ahh, you've had to kill then before?"

"When needed, to save lives."

"So you're out there defending the defenseless then?" Connor leans back on his elbows, starting to relax. Murphy lays his head down, jaw resting on Connor's stomach but his eyes locked on Sam. Connor smoothes back his fur. "He's taking a liking to your brother."

Dean snorts out a laugh. "That's what you need Sam, a track record."

"You know, the cursed aren't always the monster." Connor's voice trails off this time, and Dean's gaze flickers down to watch as Murphy noses into Connor's belly.

"We've come across that before as well."

"And did you buck the system? Twist it around so that the high and mighty were the ones slashed and broken down?"

"Every chance we could."

"But was that enough?"

"No such thing as ending evil, man. It always seems to find its way back to the surface." Dean answers, locked in on Connor's smirk of approval. Murphy notices Sam first, lifting his head and whimpering as Sam takes a step back away from Dean.

"You disagree?" Connor's voice is curious and prodding, eyes bright and locked in on Sam's face.

It takes a minute for Sam to react and the whole time Dean's frozen, watching him. When Sam finally does shake his head, Dean releases the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Good intentions can be misinterpreted for something else."

"Wait, are you changing your mind about all this?" Dean waves his hand vaguely in the air. "Cause you're the one who wanted to shoot them Sam."

"You were the same way Dean, til we got here."

Dean points at the twins. "Look at 'em! Could you really shoot that face, Sam? And the wolf too?"

Connor chokes out a laugh but says nothing, eyes flitting between the two men.

Dean shakes his head. "You want to have this conversation now?" He glances at Connor and Murphy before lowering his voice. "There's nothing good about lying and betraying family, no matter how you try and argue it."

Sam opens his mouth, but Connor cuts him off. "Come on now, before things are said without thinking." He looks at Murphy, who wags his tail. "I'll admit we dragged you away from the party down below before it really got started. Drink?"

"God, yes please," Dean says.

"Sorry about the lack of seats, we're not that used to hosting guests up here. Lost out on the couch a couple months back. Fucking chewed it all to pieces." Connor sits up, waiting for Murphy to move before standing. "We've got the beds though, make yourselves at home."

Dean heads towards the unoccupied mattress, sitting down near the foot of it. It takes Sam longer to sit, finally brushing past Dean to sit on the same side as him.

Connor heads over to a beat up dresser against the opposite wall, the top littered with assorted liquor bottles. He grabs two before heading back, pausing to lock the front door. There's a pair of rosaries hanging by the door, swinging in Connor's wake. In the low light Dean sees his fingertips reach out, almost brushing the worn wooden beads but pulling back at the last minute.

Connor catches Dean's gaze as he sits facing him, and he offers Dean one of the bottles before setting the other down. His fingers fly over his boot laces, untangling them so he can kick them off towards the foot of the bed.

Dean glances at the label, but it's faded and worn, despite the bottle being almost full. "Drink much?" Dean asks, unscrewing the top.

"Always." Connor takes his bottle, opens it up and takes a long pull from it. "Just not alone in my room with my thoughts."

"He has a good point there Dean," Sam points out, reaching out to snag the bottle from him. He lifts the bottle to his lips, sucking down a mouthful.

"Right, and your liquid addictions were so much healthier."

"Boys, boys, come on now." Connor gently kicks out at Dean, socked toes hitting Dean's shin. "We've got decent whiskey and stories and a soft spot to sleep. You can fight later."

"You're letting us crash here?" Dean takes the bottle back from Sam, his body warming as the liquid hits his stomach.

"I'm too much of a gentleman to get you drunk and then expect you to make it down all those stairs." Connor smirks at Dean, and Dean's suddenly mindful that Connor's foot is still resting against his leg.

Sam coughs suddenly, and Dean's aware of Connor's smile deepening at Sam's reaction.

Dean nudges Connor back. "You don't wear them." He nods towards Connor's collar. "How long did it take before you realized it scarred?"

Connor stares at him before raising his hand to rub at the side of his neck. "First time it happened. Wasn't anyone around to explain any of it, so it was all trial and error, doing the best we could."

"The first time?" Sam's brow is furrowed. "When were you bit?"

Connor shakes his head. "Never was. It's all in the bloodlines. Our pa's pa's pa, so on and all that," he says, waving his hand around. "Fucked something up back in the homeland, pissed off St. Patrick, so it goes, and what you see before you is the end results." His hand lingers on Murphy's head.

"So how come you changed and he didn't?" Sam asks, taking another long drink.

"One of the few things we don't share, odd enough. Dunno why, but Murph here got stuck with the seven year plan."

"And you?"

"Every seventh year."

"What's something else you two don't share?" Dean asks, nicking the bottle back from Sam, and if his fingers still on Sam's grip longer than normal, he's ready to blame the alcohol. But Sam just pauses, lets Dean brush over him before releasing the glass and Dean can't tell if the tremble in his gut is from the whiskey or something deeper.

Connor leers, subtly spreading his legs but Dean's eyes are drawn to the movement. "Have you had enough to really want to find out?"

Murphy whines, reaching out with his paw to whack at Connor's thigh. Connor chuckles before drinking more. "Murph here's the jealous type, if you haven't noticed already." Murphy whines again, struggling to sit up on the mattress. He leans against Connor, staring across at Dean as he noses up against Conner's throat, tongue catching a loose drop of whiskey off of Connor's lips.

The mattress moves under Dean as Sam shifts around next to him, and Dean lets the whiskey drag him down, leaning back on his elbows. It's making him bolder than usual, and he grins at the way Murphy's watching him.

"He's the one getting jealous? He's getting to second base with you right in front of us."

"Dean..." Sam's voice is heavy with warning, but Dean's past caring what his brother thinks of his lack of boundaries. Dean reaches out to shove at Sam, but Sam leans far enough away for Dean to just tip over onto the mattress, aided exponentially by the whiskey.

"Dammit Sam." Dean's voice is muffled by the fabric. The mattress rocks suddenly and Dean buries his face in the blankets, trying to make his head stop swimming. There's warmth against his back and a sudden damp nose snuffling against the nape of his neck. Murphy works his way around, tiny licks along Dean's jawline and Dean can smell the whiskey on the wolf's whiskers.

Dean finally rolls over, Murphy pulling back to get out of Dean's way until he settles back down. Dean keeps his eyes closed once he's on his back, focusing on the darkness and the soft whimpering noises coming from Murphy. He can hear Connor and Sam talking, feels the bed move as Sam struggles to move over to the other mattress.

A chill runs through Dean and he makes an unhappy noise, reaching out for a blanket. He brushes against fur and freezes, unsure of where the teeth are. Murphy snorts before moving closer and sitting next to Dean. Dean flinches when he feels the muzzle sliding along his belt, Murphy pushing up on his t-shirt to lick a stripe along Dean's belly.

Dean bursts out laughing, blames the liquor and the stress of it all, and when he opens his eyes he sees Murphy grinning back at him, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth.

"Your brother's got a purdy mouth," Dean comments, looking over at Connor and Sam. Connor smirks at him, eyes flickering between Dean and his brother. Sam's just watching him, mouth set in a thin line and Dean wants him to be closer, wants to pull him in and swallow him down and make everything go back to the way it was.

"Sammy..." Dean starts softly, but there's a loud crash from the foot of the bed that makes them all look. Murphy looks guilty, nosing at the empty glass bottle that's tipped over, tongue snaking in to try and get at the last drops.

"Fuckin' dog," Connor admonishes, and when Dean looks back Sam's not meeting his eyes anymore.

\---

It's been awhile since Dean's shared a room with other people, let alone werewolves. He has one knife left on him, strapped to his calf and tucked underneath his jeans. Sam's on his side, back to Dean and even though he didn't expect anything else, Dean feels the gesture stronger than he had thought.

They had finished the two original bottles and then a third on top of that, Connor making his way back to the dresser with the ease of a practiced drunk. He had stripped off the bloody shirt by that time, the bullet hole almost completely healed, and he had just grinned at Sam and Dean's reactions. "Some perks to this whole shifting business," he had murmured, eyes locked with Dean's.

Despite the alcohol, Dean can't sleep, and he manages to stand up and stumble towards the toilet. He winces at the loud echo his piss makes in the flat, but the only reaction is a snort and whimper from Murphy as he flops from side to side next to Connor.

Dean's pants are stiff from too much work and not enough cleaning, and by the time he makes it back to the mattress he decides to kick them off completely. He sits down on the mattress with a whump and his fingers stumble over the leather straps of the knife sheath.

He lies back down, pulling the blanket back over him but a shiver still runs through his body. He's used to sleeping in the cold, wrapped up in a dirty blanket in the backseat of the Impala. But here, the concrete surrounds them, making the room feel like a freezer.

"Why not get closer?" Connor's whisper startles Dean and he manages to focus his eyes on the other man's face. Connor's facing him from the other bed, his blanket pushed down to his waist. In the glow from the outside lights, Connor's scar is clear, the skin around his neck curdled where the holy beads had touched it. It starts to smooth down the further down Dean looks, until all he can see is a faint outline of a Celtic cross on Connor's stomach. Connor huffs out a breath, catching Dean's attention and Dean has to think about what they were talking about.

"To Sam?" And Connor nods. "Not really the best idea right now." He and Sam have been partners since the Apocalypse, business as usual, efficient and helpful. But there's that final line still waiting for them to cross, to push past the betrayal and lies and Dean's not ready for that yet. Better off with a partner than losing Sam completely, all over again.

"Bullshit." In one smooth move Connor's slipping from his bed to Dean's, and in the low light from the streetlights outside Dean can see the ridge of his ribs smoothing out to the curve of his hips and ass.

Connor's suddenly _there_ , pushing up against him and Dean has no place to move but back, bumping into Sam. Sam just groans, pulls in tighter around himself and stays still.

"What the fuck..." Dean starts, but Connor gets there faster, pressing his mouth to Dean's with a soft whimper that makes Dean's breath catch. His hand finds Dean's face, cupping his jaw before running his thumb over Dean's cheek.

"When's the last time this happened?" Connor asks softly, and there's an open honesty in his eyes that catches Dean off guard.

"What, having a default threesome cause my brother's in the same bed?" Dean's walls are doing the best to build themselves up for him, but Connor knocks them all down with another kiss.

"You need this." And when Connor says it that way, it almost seems that simple. Dean needs something and should expect to get it; should get it. But he starts shaking his head, soft movements that grow more determined, until Connor stops him with a bite to his lower lip.

"You're broken, aren't ya?" Connor noses up against Dean's cheek, whispering the words in his ear. He slides the rest of his body closer as well, one leg sliding over Dean's, pinning him down and pulling him in. "Nothing wrong with that, unless it's that you don't want to be fixed." He nips at Dean's earlobe and Dean can't stop the shudder that runs through his body.

"He's not the same." Dean doesn't mean for it to come out but it does, broken and harsh when it hits the air. He pulls away from Connor's hand, pushing his face into the worn pillow.

"Bullshit," Connor tells him, and when Dean opens his mouth Connor kisses him quiet. "We talked, you know," he murmurs when he pulls away from Dean, and Dean feels his heartbeat slow.

"About what?"

"Bits and pieces. Glossed over your line of work, the," Connor pauses, searching for the right word, "magnitude of it all. Before and after."

Dean's head is muddy, overwhelmed and exposed and now he knows why Sam was so pissed when he found out Dean had told Cassie so long ago.

"We all have our secrets," Connor's voice is soft as he moves his hand up to stroke over Dean's hip. "Nothing wrong with that, or admitting you can't do it alone."

Dean starts to bristle at Connor's words, but Sam's snorting in his sleep and moving around, so he bites his tongue. He slides his hand around the nape of Connor's neck, pulling him back in so that Dean can murmur against his skin.

"He's not the same," Dean repeats, mind flashing over the past few months. The long silences, the distances they both keep from each other now. It's easier to blame Hell, blame Lucifer for the resulting silences than try and face it all head-on, raw and exposed.

"No one stays the same." And there's a fond teasing in Connor's voice. "Want me to point out my brother over there, in case you've forgotten?"

Dean's shoulders shake and even he can't tell if he's ready to laugh or cry. He pulls his face away from the pillow, turning to look at Connor. "So, you got me drunk to play therapist?"

"Hate to tell you but I didn't offer up my stash just to play with your mind." Connor smirks at Dean and slides his hand down to Dean's shoulder. "I'm sure you have amazing stories of far off lands," he murmurs, tracing over the scar on Dean's upper arm. "But that's not really what either of us is looking for, is it?"

Connor keeps moving his hand lower, pausing over scars and old wounds before resting low on Dean's back. Connor meets Dean's gaze again, and all Dean can do is bite his lip and grip at Connor's arm when Connor tugs his boxers down.

"Come on, make a little noise for me now." Connor's voice is a slow purr as his hand wraps around Dean's cock. He tightens his grip as he slowly starts to stroke Dean, leaning forward to press his mouth against Dean's neck.

Dean whimpers at the touch, his hips rocking forward and he can feel Connor's cock against his thigh, slick and hard and the touch leaves Dean tightening his grip on the other man's arm, sliding his other hand down to grope at Connor's ass. A gasp escapes from Dean, seemingly loud in the vast space and he can hear Murphy respond with a low whine somewhere from the other bed.

"He'll wake up," Dean gets out, and his eyes widen at Connor's laugh.

"He's been watchin' you writhe around for a bit now." Connor sounds pleased. When Dean starts to twist his head around to look Connor catches his face with his hand. "Stay where you are now." Connor's eyes darken as he licks his lips. "You don't get to look."

Dean's eyes flutter shut when the mattress starts to move and Sam draws in. There's an awkward familiarity there, the way Sam positions himself against Dean's back. Connor's hand keeps moving on Dean's cock, both men pushing in closer until Dean's trapped between them.

Sam's pressed tight against him, arms wrapping around Dean, pulling him closer and Dean can feel how hard Sam is. He doesn't mean to roll his hips backwards but he does, and the resulting groan is completely worth it.

"I've got you Dean, I promise. Just let me," Sam tells him, voice broken and wanting and all Dean wants to do is twist around and hug him, comfort him like he's always done. But Connor's watching, fingers tightening around Dean's cock and Dean knows what he really wants.

"God Dean, please, just let me, just..." Sam's hands are roaming all over Dean's body, glancing over Cas' mark to go further down, to tangle with Connor's fingers around Dean's dick and that's it, Dean's done.

"Yes, Sam, fuck, yes." Dean pushes back, reaching around to grab at Sam's thigh, to ground himself.

"Christ man, you can wait long enough for some slick, right?" Connor's voice is teasing and then Sam's snickering as well, and all Dean wants is for Sam to fuck him, slide inside and take over so that Dean can finally let go.

He keeps his eyes closed as he hears Connor rustling around, but then Sam's pulling away from Dean, soft apologies as he slicks himself up. Dean groans when Sam first slides a finger into him, the feeling familiar enough but so far in the past. All he can do is whimper, grinding back against Sam and praying that Sam knows what he means.

Sam adds another finger before Dean tries to twist around, kissing at him messily and desperate. "'m ready Sam, come on."

Dean knows what to expect, the painful stretch that has him grasping at the mattress as Sam's fingers dig into his hips. A broken whimper slips out from him, his body shuddering forward, but Connor's there to meet him, teeth on Dean's throat.

"Holy crap," Dean manages to get out, Connor still smelling like copper and whiskey and sweat and the feeling of Connor's teeth closing around Dean's pulse has him pushing back on Sam, fingers reaching out to grab at Connor's hips.

Connor's hand slips down to start slowly jacking Dean off again, and Dean doesn't realize Sam's bottomed out until he feels his breath against his shoulder. Sam stays still for a moment, watching Connor's fingers until he slides his arm around Dean's waist, pulling Dean tight against him.

Connor pulls back, admiring the mark left on Dean's skin. There's a low whine behind him, and Dean sees Murphy sitting there and watching, his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"How long have you been waiting for this?" Sam whispers in his ear, pulling his attention away from the brothers and all Dean can do is shake his head, not ready to commit to that question out loud. "I'm gonna get it out of you one way or another," Sam grins against Dean's neck and all Dean can do is whimper in response.

Sam starts moving slowly, long strokes that leave Dean shaking and pressing back as much as he can. But Sam's holding on to his hips, holding him in place so there's nothing for him to do but lie there and be fucked.

It doesn't take long for Dean to feel the curl in his toes, the faint feeling that has his breath hitching in his throat. "Fuck, Sammy..." And he can feel Sam's breathless laugh against his neck, the warm huff of air making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Connor," Sam calls out, and suddenly Connor's pressing tight against Dean, reaching over his shoulder to draw Sam in for a messy kiss. He grins at Dean before wriggling his way down the bed, sucking a mark into Dean's hip that leaves Dean trying to thrust forward.

Dean's eyes are closed when Connor wraps his mouth around his cock and he's fucking thankful for that, not sure if he'd be able to last any longer if he had seen that happen himself. He's floating though, so close to coming but Sam's not moving, just whispering nonsense into Dean's ear that Dean's pretty sure he's going to blame on the whiskey in the morning.

"Sam, please," and Dean hates begging, hates asking for anything but he's on the cusp, so close to breaking apart he can feel the cracks in his toes starting to crawl up his legs. Connor groans around Dean's cock, reaching behind to stroke at Sam's sac and trace a finger around his dick, brushing up against Dean's hole.

Sam swears, fucking into Dean hard and coming with a groan and Dean follows suit, hips jerking forward within Sam's grip. Connor moans around Dean's dick, swallowing as much as he can without gagging, and Dean tangles his fingers in Connor's hair, encouraging him on.

Dean shudders when Connor finally pulls back, sliding back up Dean's body to kiss him hard. Dean tries to pull him closer, tasting blood when his teeth catch on Dean's lower lip, but Connor slides from his grasp. He leans over Dean's shoulder instead, leaving a smear of blood on Sam's mouth when he kisses him.

"Fucking take care of him, ya hear?" Connor doesn't bother to lower his voice, and Dean feels Sam's fingers tighten on his hips. "Both of you," he adds, glancing back down at Dean. Dean nods, too tired to do anything else and he halfheartedly grabs at the blankets he thinks are nearby. Connor snorts and stands, making his way towards the other bed.

\---

Dean doesn't know how much time has passed when he finally opens his eyes, but it's still dark in the loft. He's twisted around now, facing Sam, and when he moves he can feel the ache in his body. He tries to untangle himself from the blankets but Sam reaches out and snags Dean around the waist.

"You're warm, what are you doing?"

"Let go, it'll just be a minute." Dean relaxes though, lets himself get pulled back in.

"Mmm, cleaned up already," Sam murmurs, his eyes slowly blinking open.

"You never do."

"You passed out, dumbass. I didn't want to wake up with you stuck to my leg or anything." Dean sees a smile flicker over Sam's face.

"Is that what he meant by take care of me?" Dean smiles, but his touch is cautious as he slides his hand up Sam's side, letting his fingers slow over his ribs.

"Something like that." Sam leans forward, pressing his forehead against Dean's. "We'll figure it out as we go."

"Mmm." Dean starts to talk, but Sam shuts him up with a kiss.

"Sleep now though." Sam slowly rubs a circle on Dean's back with his thumb and Dean lets himself fall into the touch.

\---

Dean wakes up to the sound of garbage trucks and horns blaring. He tries to shift his legs, finding them tangled up in someone else's. The loft's lit up with sun, bright and harsh and Dean does his best to bury himself back under the covers.

There's an arm slung around his chest, fingers clutching at the blanket beneath them, pinning Dean in place. He blinks a few more times, trying to get his bearings and sees Connor watching him with a smirk on his face.

"You." It comes out garbled and rough and Dean coughs a few times, trying to find his voice. "Was it all some whiskey fueled dream?"

"Sweet enough that you'd think to dream of me, but no." Connor tilts his chin at Dean. "Look behind you already."

Dean twists his head around as far as he can, gently bumping into Sam's nose. Sam's arms tighten around Dean, and for a moment there's a look on his face that takes Dean back to when neither of them had anything to fear from the world.

\-----

"So, you two have any plans now?" Connor's voice is calm, but Murphy's pacing around the loft, shooting Sam and Dean glares whenever they meet his eyes.

Dean looks at Sam before shrugging. "We're here to do a job. And in our line of work, it's better not to leave jobs half-finished. You know, for safety's sake."

Murphy's on Dean in a flash, rearing up to drop his paws on Dean's shoulders, his teeth bared dangerously close to Dean's face and a growl rumbles out of him.

"You wanna call him off me?"

"I don't know. Do I?"

"And after all we shared last night." Dean's smirk falters as Murphy snaps at him, and Sam lets out an exasperated sigh. "We heard you guys might have a dick problem around town. And I'm sure your line of work crosses over with ours from time to time."

Connor stares at Dean before barely nodding his head. "Murph, leave the man alone already."

Murphy pulls back with a low growl and drops to the floor, stalking over to lean against Connor's leg. "How long d'you think you'll be in town?"

Dean shrugs again. "Don't have any active cases at the moment, but I'm sure we could call around, dig something up."

Sam interrupts. "Are you saying you do want us around or are just counting the hours til we drive away and you can go back to your thing."

"Our thing does seem to be working though. Grab a paper while you're in town, you'll probably see us in it."

"You or your shadows?" Sam asks.

"One large black blur's the same as the next in my book," Connor grins. "Adds an air of mystery to it all even."

"Being a werewolf's not enough mystery for you?" Dean butts in.

"You'd be surprised how quick it can get to become bored of licking yourself. Not as much fun as you'd think, really."

Dean shakes his head, trying not to picture Connor twisted around like that. "Not really what I was going for there."

"Ahh, but you liked it, didn't ya?" Connor leers at Dean, dropping his hand to skritch at the base of Murphy's ears. "If you two do end up back here, look us up and we'll get Doc to treat you right next time around. On us, even."

\---

It's a short hike to the Impala, and Dean's pleased to see she's there in one piece, nothing missing or dented. He runs a hand along her side before popping the trunk and emptying his pockets and holsters.

A few wrong turns and then they're finally close to finding the highway, and Dean pushes the car to a happy roar as he accelerates up the on ramp.

"Where to?" Dean asks, glancing over. Sam already has a map out, a file folder open in his lap underneath the large sheet of paper.

"Got an email from someone down south needing help in Florida, and there's some crop circle stuff going on in New York."

"What sort of help?"

"They're claiming zombies, but I don't know. Seems like a popular answer nowadays."

"Anything closer?"

Sam looks up and smirks at Dean. "Not ready to leave Boston yet?"

"I dunno, I mean, I'm sure there's shit going down somewhere in this town. We just have to find it." Dean blames the sudden increase in heat on the car and cracks open a window.

"I'll bet Bobby'll know someone who knows where we could go. Or at least who to ask around these parts."

"I'll give him a call." Sam glances over at Dean. "Any other calls you want me to make?"

"Like what?"

"Bet you're missing Connor's mouth already." There's a teasing tone to Sam's voice, but when Dean looks over at him, there's a warmth there as well that's been missing the past several months.

"Fuck you," but Dean's laughing, trying to cut across traffic to the closest off ramp.

"Anyways, you're still too sore."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

~


End file.
